


Tequila Sunset Boulevard

by Ivyzord



Series: Parts of the Jamrock Shuffle [2]
Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Comedy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Slow Burn, slightly graphic description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyzord/pseuds/Ivyzord
Summary: This is sort of continuation of "Part of the Jamrock Shuffle", but I think it can be easily be read as a stand alone. Another very Harrier-centric story, about his past and continuous struggle with himself. Sad angst story, with comfort and ship at the end...NOW with beautiful art by AshOfTheLily -ARTIST'S TUMBLR HERE!ARTIST'S TWITTER HERE!"It would be so much easier, to let it go, if he had truly forgotten everything, but something in him remembers. Snippets and shadows of thoughts still float through his head. Vague feelings returning in his dreams. A longing for something unknown, an unspecified fear. Like an empty throbbing pain in your head after a long, wild, sad party, but this party was his whole life."
Relationships: Harry Du Bois & Kim Kitsuragi, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Series: Parts of the Jamrock Shuffle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661956
Comments: 48
Kudos: 50





	1. Wrong Turn Down the Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to listen to SAD FM along with Harry, I made a spotyfy List: [SAD FM](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4JyQn4GPpHmVb3w3nSAeUd?si=GCq4Uw__RrSk0uqFB0k3Lw)
> 
> Hope you like the fic. Warning: It might get quite angsty and sad. I guess If you read it after "Part of the Jamrock Shuffle" it becomes a slow burn...

[Check out the orginal artwork here!](https://ash-of-the-lily.tumblr.com/post/619300972825591808/while-reading-a-wonderfully-angsty-disco-elysium/) by [AshOfTheLily](https://ash-of-the-lily.tumblr.com/)

Harry wondered how pathetic it would be to celebrate half a year of being sober and how would one go about something like this. He decides, that there is no gold medal for not fucking up, for a change, so he doesn't drag anyone into his little miserable half-year anniversary. He opted for a little bit of self-improvement. He took a day off work, and decided to go for something, that has been bugging him for months.

In his, passably clean, apartment, there was a place still almost untouched by the new Harry. He set his sights at a part of a tiny walk-in closet, next to his bedroom. He have superficially cleaned it before but the fear of finding something unsettling kept him from exploring further. Pile of old clothing and a bunch of mysterious boxes wait for him impatiently. He is better now. No overwhelming urge to drink, or treacherous whispers in his head. It’s time.

The voice seemed to calmed down considerably, but the process of moving it out was long and arduous. First it was like an annoying roommate, always present, hard to ignore, then it turn into a house-guest, that overstays their welcome, to later visit him less and less. Today it’s just like that person, you pass every other day on your way to work. When you see them you vaguely realize who they are there, but pay them no mind, if they disappear from your life for a week or two.

 _Ok, Harry,_ _you can do it._ _I_ _t’s time to move forward._ _Y_ _ou’re at a standstill. You can’t get any better, until you face_ _this._ It would be so much easier, to let it go, if he had truly forgotten everything, but something in him remembers. Snippets and shadows of thoughts still float through his head. Vague feelings returning in his dreams. A longing for something unknown, an unspecified fear. Like an empty throbbing pain in your head after a long, wild, sad party, but this party was his whole life.

Maybe he be prepared better, not let the past catch him by surprise. Just last week something trivial, like choosing what to drink, turned out to have more consequences, than he had any right to expect.

* * *

At the end of a long day of abusing his body with precinct’s coffee Harry's hands are starting to shake and he can feel heartburn coming along, so he decides to go for a tea. Judith kept some by the coffee corner as one of only few eccentrics, who didn’t exclusively drink the cheap, over-roasted, dark brew. Jean is looking at him with a weird expression, leaning on on the wall hands crossed, observing him. Before Harry can deduce the reason, he takes a single sip, and a moment later he’s crouching by the trashcan, gagging trying, and barely managing to keep his meager breakfast from violently evacuating him. Jean came over, face still unreadable and tense, but his voice bordering on amicable, as he hesitantly, touches Harry's shoulder.

“I was just wondering, if you remembered that. It’s weird that the smell alone didn’t set you off.”

“Fucking… ugh, what?” Harry answers still heaving and spitting into the trashcan… a hint of memory and stomach acid linger on his tongue.

“Yeah, we really don’t like jasmine tea. It took me a good couple of months, until I let Judith even bring it back here. I never really liked it, but it’s a great fucking deal worse, since some sick fuck tried to cover the stench of his own daughter rotting in the attic by putting her in a trash bag with bunch of this fucking thing.” As he says this, he pours the tea to in the sink with a disgusted expression. “didn't really help much.”

 _A real criminal mastermind_ Harry tries to answer with a joke, but instead, he looks down, as he sees the trash bag beneath him, some memory stirs the consents of his stomach and it’s all suddenly to much, he’s not able to stop it, and actually pukes this time. The wrenching sound are follow by a brief silence.

Jean doesn't change his expression much, when he decides to comment. “Well... It’s not the first, or the worst time you did that in your workplace.” probably realizing, that it might have not been the right moment, to recall the most decomposed, mangled body, they have ever seen he adds, almost inaudibly, “...sorry.”

Harry turns to him face green, but a goofy smile, as well as a bit of vomit, on his lips “Heh, you said ‘we’.”

“What?”

You said, ‘We don’t like jasmine tea’ I’m glad that you and me are a we, at least about...” he suppresses another gag” “… the damned tea.”

“What the fuck, does that have to do with anything!?” He’s staring at him eyes wide, for a second, before they get very narrow. “You, know what? Fuck you! You might be sober, but you’re still insane! Get your shit together, clean this place up, I’m done...” He’s yelling as he leaves, but Harry is still smiling, sitting on the floor hugging a trashcan. Jean finally admitted he’s sober and even made a little shitty joke about it. He knows that the shouting is without venom, on a reflex, more surprise than spite. It’s only proven, when, Jean is the first person to curtly explain the situation to startled Kim. He also tells people, who just looked like they might want to comment at a sorry state of the lieutenant, to move on, fuck off and mind their business. That was what passed as good mood for Jean.

* * *

It seems remarkably unfair to relive a past trauma as if it was brand new. Yet, unpleasant as the recollection itself was, he could just feel the weight one of many pieces of the unlabeled baggage unpacking. It took him days, but he got all the little unwrapped thoughts compartmentalized, and he managed to not do anything stupid in the process. He’s hoping to do something like that today in a controlled environment of his home. No surprises, no public regurgitation. He catches that thought, and goes to the bathroom and gets himself a bucket. Now he’s ready.

The detective inside Harry is ready to work hard, rolling up his metaphorical sleeves, eager to get into the mental dirt. This is the same feeling, he gets when, he’s pursuing clues. The weight in his chest turns to excitement. Despite all this shit he’s been dealing with, this proves, that he choose his occupation well, found a place in this miserable world. He likes putting things together.

He realized he has been standing there for an hour just reminiscing, thinking, postponing the work

He psychs himself up. _Well, there's no time like present_. He hits play on his radio, that starts to play Sad Fm, a quiet melancholic tune fills the room, as gets into it.

At first it goes well, a feeling of satisfaction of work coming along. A pile of things to throw away is growing with worn, ill-fitting clothes. Harry’s affinity for collecting junk keeps him from trowing some meaningless mementos, that remind him of nothing. He puts back a glowing in a dark rubber ducky on the shelf. It might be important, maybe he’ll remember later, or maybe his bad taste is incurable. A little dose of dopamine hit him, as he finds a stack of tapes. He recognizes almost none of them, except Ostentatious Orchestrations and Guillaume Le Million, of course. Otherwise there is so much new here. He feels giddy, like a kid, just learning the world, excited at a prospect of listening them later. It makes the rest of the work easier, as he hums some melody that he had no idea, he knew. Going through piles of old tacky clothing, something stops his hand and sends a crack through his fragile satisfaction. He takes out little bottles of alcoholic beverages from inconspicuous, well hidden pockets, of what looked like his work clothes. Was he so far gone, that he bought clothes, that had such hidden compartments? Did he gave a shit enough to go to some poor tailor, to have them made? That moment he felt like he was confronting and profiling himself. His own suspect and unreliable witness. That’s not enough to brake him, he was ready. Something deep inside, though, tells him that this wasn’t going to be the last of the dreadful surprises. Firstly, there are more of the little treacherous bottles, as he goes on.

He looks at the sad collection, he put in a row on a freshly emptied shelf. Faded labels, a couple of discolored whiskeys, partially evaporated vodka and a few weird herbal and fruit liqueurs. Prime exhibits in a museum of failure. It feels like they belongings to some obscure historical figure, he didn’t really want to, know. But he has to. He doesn't want to repeat his mistakes. The bottles end up in a yellow Frittte bag, mentally tagged as ‘Throw away priority no.1.’ He ties it and chucks it in a corner, trying not to focus on them to hard.

It was near evening, when he settled down on a floor with a bunch of boxes, filled with all of kind of things. He decides to bring some items to his face and study them slowly, one by one until he gets bored or they trigger something in him. The latter never happened. Instead going on a trip down memory lane, he felt as if he was going through somebody else’s trash. Even in his new life, that wouldn’t be the first time. Kim always looks bemused at the eagerness and lack of shame that Harry shows, when the investigation bring them to some trash cans. Harry was one for collecting and holding on to things, often on instinct, but this time, by the mercy of lack of some sentimental memories, he allows himself to throw away a collection of chipped mugs.

He opens another box, and something bittersweet washes over him, as he realize that it is filled with mementos of his time as a gym teacher at Curon. A whistle, a tennis ball, even a gold medal. Harry brushes it’s surface with his thumb. Around it a big ‘1’ on the ‘Franconegro High School Revachol.’ It feels notably cold in his hand. Like a kid, led by an impulse, he puts it on, and plays with it, twisting in between his fingers. He must have taken those things from school, as he was leaving, as a souvenir. It seems consistent enough with how he is. Nothing beyond a smell of gym and an echo of sneakers squeaking on the floor return to him. Looking at picture of high-schoolers smiling twists his heart with guilt. The kid’s didn’t deserve to be so utterly forgotten. On the other hand, was it really any good to be remembered by the fuck-up he became? What softens the blow is a thought, that he has something to believe he wasn’t always a failure. He grabs a framed cutout of some local newspaper. From the picture a lanky dark-skinned boy looks at him with a timid smile, presenting a medal to the photographer. Harry spots himself in the background, beaming with pride. As intensely as he looked at the picture, he couldn’t remember. It was painful, but it was also a proof. Evidence of something good. Harry reads: ‘Our very own Léo LaRue wins a cross-school track meat, establishing a new school record.” The kid. Léo, thanks His parents, teammates and his coach. I’s just a mention in a school paper, but Harry was proud enough, to frame it. He smiles at himself only a bit bitterly. First information from his past, that didn’t end up to be a huge disappointment. He might have been a good man some time ago. It was also a first time he really felt guilty, for trying to unceremoniously kill that person.

He put the cutout to the side with care. Wondering whatever could happen to the boy. Maybe, if he is really that good, he’ll hear about him in the news. He should maybe hang the picture. He decides, that he will be on a look out for the name. _You’ll come across it sooner than you think_ _._ In his mind a sharp whisper either threatens, or assures. He waves it of by instinct, gets back to the contents of the box, to is an old issue of Pereferiqe, that was just underneath the framed photo. It looks like it was mercilessly crumpled, and then reverently straitened out. A strange dread came over him, as he began to skim it, looking for a reason for it being there. Opening of green mills restaurant, crime on the rise, nothing really strikes him as important, then his hands grow cold in an instant, as he finds it. He had strain not to drop the paper. A mention, local news.

‘Léonard La Rue 19, dead in a traffic accident.’

 _No… no no no no_.

“A graduate of Franconegro High School in Curon died in a tragic accident, while on his way to a friendly track meet in Jamrock. The young man, who showed remarkable talent for sport, lost his balance and skidded of the road and hit a tree. He died instantly. Police suspects, a collision with another vehicle. The other driver was never found. RCM would be grateful for any further information.”

_No..._

_No._

_No!_

_No… so young._

The text is so impersonal, so clinical, it makes the pain somehow hotter, more messy.

_I did this..._

The voice jumps at the opportunity, it’s rumbling, yawning and stretching in his head, getting comfortable in it's old quarters. Getting ready to speak.

[HELLO BABY… LONG TIME NO HEAR. AND WHAT A FINE MESS!]

No, no, it was fine a minute ago. He was fine. Everything was fine. Why did he think, he could to it alone… His hands shake, vision is blurry, breathing ragged and shallow. It should be in a past, he must have been through it once before. This time it so cruel, to get something good, just for it to turn out to be an empty, bloody echo...

[AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! IF NOT FOR YOU HE WOULD HAVE BEEN IN THAT STUPID MOTOR CARRIAGE, AND FOR WHAT? SOME INANE GAME! THE KID IS JUST ANOTHER THING YOU DESTROYED IN YOUR WAKE AND FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT. JUST ANOTHER INCONVENIENCE TO GET RID OF.]

 _I...n_ _ever wanted this…_

[AH, BUT YOU JUST COULDN'T LET THE CORPSE OF THE PAST DECOMPOSE IN PEACE. THE SMELL WAS TO MUCH, WASN’T IT HARRY? NOW IT’S ALL RESURFACED AND YOU GET TO ADMIRE IT IN IT’S BLOATED ENTIRETY!]

No matter how much he doesn't want it anymore, he can’t stop the past from coming back. There suddenly is a flash, of a deceptively sunny day. There are gravestones around him and a defeated-looking woman clad in black shoves the medal into his limp hand. “We don’t want it our house, maybe it means something to you.” there are no feelings beyond bleak dejection in her voice. Harry feels wetness on his cheeks, it crosses the boundary of the memory. He doesn't even try to stop the tears. The medal suddenly is heavy with guilt. Like a stone, on his neck that pulls him back underwater.

[YOU JUST HAD TO KNOW EVERYTHING. WANTED TO ANCHOR YOURSELF IN THIS REALITY, SO HERE IT IS. NOW DROWN, BABY DROWN!]

He tries to hold on to the feeling and also distance himself. Tries to remember and tries to forget.

The world becomes hazy it’s blinking in and out of focus. His head is swimming. Contours too sharp one moment, and blurry beyond recognition the next. Things are lacking words. Words are loosing definitions.

[YOU GOT THE PAST, YOU SO MUCH WANTED. THE BAD NEWS: YOU ARE A SORRY FUCK-UP. THE GOOD NEWS: YOU CAN NOW GIVE UP AND FUCK YOURSELF UP.]

He sets sight on another box, in desperation to distract himself, everything inside him screams. He no longer hears the music or even his own ragged breathing, as he opens it with shaky hand, It contents, are not much better, then the last’s one.

[OOH, AND WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE...?]

There is nothing soothing, nothing to hold on to, just another deluge of consciousness. And it’s all to much. The joined weight brakes the fucking dam, and the combined flow… breaks him.


	2. Stuck on the Roundabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, So.. It's gonna get a bit worse, before it gets better, but the ending of the chapter is a first sign, of good things to come, so bear with me. 
> 
> "Harry is stuck somewhere between trying and giving up. Between hope and hopelessness. Needing just a nudge in either direction. The fact, that he shown up at Kim's door is the only indication of the way he wants it to go."

Harry is clutching a silver hip flask so hard, his knuckles are white, the metal is beginning to bend slightly. The elaborate floral pattern is being imprinted onto his fingers. He is sitting on the little steps, leading to a small shabby door. He takes a swig. The metal is cold against his lips, and the sickly sweet concoction, that hits his tongue tastes stale and artificial.

It’s just like kissing Her, by the end…

The heat that flows within him, as he swallows is more acid than fire. Not warm but corrosive. The substance now burning through his veins, slowly re-poisoning him.

[TELL ME HARRY, YOU PITIFUL FUCK, WHY ARE YOU DRINKING THIS?]

Ah, and the old roommate is back in his head and it’s getting comfortable again. Like with many people you would rather not have to deal with, drinking helps, so he takes another gulp.

What a sight he is. At sad old drunk sitting in front of a house of someone, who should never ever see him like this. Where else was he to go? To Jean? He would just yell. He would do it because that is his the only thing, he knows to do. The only way he knows to react to emotions. To most things, really. Harry drinks some more and he pushes his wet face into his knees.

[AND AS I ASKED? WHY ARE YOU DRINKING THIS? THERE IS ANOTHER PERFECTLY GOOD OLD CHEAP MINIATURE WHISKEY IN THAT BAG THERE!]

Harry looks at the bag for a longer while then buries his head back into his legs.

[I HAVE AN EVEN BETTER IDEA! YOU ARE ADULT, YOU HAVE SOME MONEY IN YOUR POCKET, THERE MUST BE A STORE NEARBY. LETS HAVE A NICE CHEAP COMMODORE RED. YOU’D LIKE THAT. BETTER YET, SPLURGE! BUY SOMETHING NICE, YOU DON’T NEED MONEY, WHERE YOU ARE GOING IF YOU ARE DRINKING AGAIN. LET’S CELEBRATE!]

 _I’m not drinking again..._ _am I?_ He takes another sip from the flask. It’s not suppose to be nice. It’s self imposed torture. He drinks it because it’s weak and unpleasant. _For the love of Elysium, I don’t want to go back to… that._ It’s a sick need mixed with punishment.

[A YES, THE SELF-FLAGELLATION. YOU ARE GOOD AT THAT. IT HELPS SO MUCH. EVERYONE IS GRATEFUL, THAT YOU ARE SO GODDAMNED SORRY. GOOD GOING HARRY, KEEP IT UP!]

He decides not to move. He can’t do something stupid if he doesn't move. He sits on the stairs, knees under his chin. He shrinks so much, that beige coat is covering almost all of him. He knows, he looks pathetic and sad. Harry is stuck somewhere between trying and giving up. Between hope and hopelessness. Needing just a nudge in either direction. The fact, that he shown up at Kim's door is the only indication of the way he wants it to go.

[YOU DON’T WANT MISTER RESPONSIBLE TO SEE YOU LIKE THAT. HE’LL JUDGE HE’LL MAKE YOU STOP.]

 _I know. I’m counting on it._ He hugs his legs to himself, like a lost child. _I’m_ _counting on him._

* * *

After Harry skimmed the contents of the second box, a scary understanding dawned on him. We never wanted to know, how Harry Du Bois from half a year ago, thought, but he felt the urge to trash the place. He understood instantly, how to blunt this rage. He immediately downed one of the little whiskeys, before he was able to realize what is going on, or he might have been able to stop himself if he had a moment to think, but they where just there and it was so easy. _Why I didn’t just t_ _h_ _row them away_ _immediately._ _Why I thought I could do_ _something like that_ _alone…_ He lost the last shred of restraint, when confronted with reminders of Her. Photos, letters, little trinkets. He was to confused, to distressed to read, but, as he held them things came back to him, dripping bit by bit, yet like a flood at a same time. The notion of time itself bending in his brain. The good interlaced with the bad. A gleaming ornate hip flask winked at him.

He could suddenly see it in her hand. Her silhouette lit up, by the rising sun. Red and pink, radiant and almost burning, as she laughs and dances. The laugh rings in a beautiful, hollow, painful echo in his head. The taste of the liqueur on her lips, as they kissed is reforged, in his mind. Old pathways are retraced again. They where young and stupid, and happy. He was so cool, a rebel in a leather jacket and disco pants, She was beautiful as a welkin in her summer dress. They went somewhere, wherever, on his bike and talked and laughed until morning. They didn’t need much then. Just free time, music, some booze and each other.

Things changed, she started to need more, he needed different thing. She didn’t need his vulnerability, to anyone but her, his caring, that was directed at something or someone else and his drinking, that wasn’t all that fun anymore, and the guilt he was carrying. It was all just so... bothersome. The change of carriers didn't help their relationship much… He needed to do something, to repair what is broken, both outside and within, but he believed, he will be doing it at her side. She wanted something different. She needed somebody else.

He took her unfortunate, elegant round flask with a shaking hand and was surprised it was heavy, a liquid sloshing inside. He opened it, took a deep breath and then, a swig...

A taste similar, but not the same. The substance is old, more viscous, and tastes rotten, but it’s close enough, to torture his mind.

He gulped down the herbal liqueur, to combat the overwhelming nauseating sweetness. The taste was so bitter, that it woke him back into unexpected, partial clarity. He shoved the box, the cutout and the paper into the frittte bag, grabbed it, and went out. Something told him to throw away the empty bottles, get rid of the evidence on the way, but he decided, that whatever he was going to do, he it will have to be honest. He somehow found himself in front of Kim’s door.

* * *

Kim was walking back from the nearby store with a small bag of groceries. Too bad, that the store wasn't far enough to justify taking his Kineema for the ride. It always helped him clear his head, and it seemed a bit, uncharacteristically, cluttered at the moment. He pretended not to know the source of the small distress, but he was recalling little stunt officer Vicquemare and Harry performed by the coffee corner earlier this week. He doesn't want to admit how he felt, the moment he saw Harry pale, green clutching the trashcan for his dear life. Just for a second, he was mad, upset, but most of all just… frightened and saddened, to see him like this. There was something of a little storm going though his mind lately. Not that anyone could tell. He made sure he acted his usual professional self. By reflex, he started to take a deep breath of the crisp, evening autumn air but stopped sharply midway, as he was reminded of the Jamrock’s smell. A distinctive mix of chemicals, exhaust fumes and rot, among other things. Locals didn’t seem to notice and in the time he have moved here, he too acknowledges it less and less. Some days, however, where worst then others. It’s that kind of a day. As he is closing the distance to his house, he start to form a strategic decision. Should he light up here in the not-so-pleasant evening air, or leave it to, traditionally, go over his notes. He glances the way of the apartment. He wonders how long does he have to be living there, to stop thinking of it as ‘new’... Ah, another characteristic sight, although not exclusive specifically to Jamrock. Nothing unusual to encounter a drunk or two on your way home. The familiar dread creeps up his spine as he realizes, that’s not just any drunk. _Harry..._

As he hears the familiar steps next to him, he drops the flask to the ground, and looks up. His puffy eyes meet the lieutenants stern gaze behind his glasses. He looks very professional, painstakingly so. There is a silence between them that seem to stretch at infinity. Harry looks at him as if he wants to say something, but words seem stuck in his throat. Kim leans down, to pick up the hip flask and studies it briefly, smelling the content suspiciously, then he sets his sights at and the bag. He grabs it, holds it to his face, before opening and checking the bottles inside. He’s securing the crime scene. He's going about it as it was a case. He knows Harry didn’t bought them, they show their age.

“Where did you get these?” the tone is the one he uses for interrogations.

“Found them… in my house.” Harry bumbles. Kim suppresses a shudder, at the broken defeated voice.

Kim grabs two empty ones in his gloved hand. “Is that all you drunk?”

Harry looks up, and gestures weakly, to the flask Kim is holding in his other hand, than nods.

Kim throws the flask into the bag, and uses the free hand to massage his forehead. “Okay...” it sounds remarkably insincere. He lifts his glasses slightly to hold the pitch of his nose. “Just… lets just go upstairs,” He says, going around Harry not looking his way as he opens the door. The lieutenant obediently follows.

They enter the apartment, Kim leads the defeated man with stern hand on his back to his couch. When Harry plops onto it, limply. Kim wordlessly unpacks his groceries closing the cabinets and fridge a bit to loudly. When he is done he finally speaks, taking a cigarette from a pack, thanking himself, he didn't waste it on the way here.

“I’m going for a smoke” He eyes the bag, that Harry brought wit him, and grabs it. He takes his steps toward a glass door to a tiny balcony. Not looking back at Harry, he says “I swear, if you’ll go through my house in search for alcohol, I’m filing for a transfer.” He steps out and slides the door behind him.

He takes a moment to catch a few big breaths. Suddenly Jamrock air doesn't seem so bad. He lights up a cigarette, suppressing the trembling of his hands. He stops before he hides the lighter back and looks at it intently. A beautiful pale blue gleams in the faint glow of a distant streetlight. A present form Harry. His daily reminder of him. As if he wasn’t thinking about him enough lately. He puts it back to his pocket, gently. It softened him up a little. _Goddammit Kitsuragi… t_ _hat might have been_ _too harsh..._

He wasn’t suppose to let anyone make him feel that way anymore. All the professionalism, all the systems and restraint, that kept him fine thought the years, crashed against the force that was Harrier Du Bois. It wasn’t an entirely bad feeling. It usually made him feel something beyond… just ok. In either direction. He just wasn’t ready to feel so devastated after seeing him like this. He kneels by the bag, to get to the bottom of this. To gather info before comforting Harry. Methodical approach calms him. He starts to go through the bag. It’s hard to know for sure how inebriated Harry truly is, in his mental state. Kim, trust him, though, that he told the truth. He skims the box with Dora’s mementos and then came across the framed cutout, and the newspaper. He connects the facts quickly. He stands up and runs a hand though his hair roughly. _Fuck, I was,_ _entirely,_ _to harsh..._

Kim enters the back to the room, to see that Harry barely move from the spot Kim sat him at, his head is leaning on the back of the sofa. His eyes open slightly and they immediately dart to Kim’s hand where his holding the newspaper.

“Kim… I killed that kid, Kim. Léo...” He says trying to rise from his seat., but Kim stops him with a gesture.

“No, Harry, You didn’t.” _of course_ _he_ _would_ _sees it that way._ Kim pours a glass of water and hands to him “Here, drink it.” It’s more a command than a request. Kim sits next on him at a little couch and puts one hand on his arm. That seem to help with his agitation a bit. “Just tel me… what happened? How did you come across all... this.” He holds up the bag.

Harry swallows the water greedily, puts the glass on a small coffee table and slides back down, the couch, closing his eyes. “I was cleaning. I wanted to know all this stuff, to get things in order.”

“I thought I told you to come to me if you needed help with anything like that.” He tries not to show the hurt in his voice. Harry looks around, as if he just truly realized where he is, but he doesn't really sound all that wasted, just tired, devastated...

“I’m sorry I’m just sick of feeling like a problem to people.. to you. I thought I could do it.” Before Kim can protest Harry continues. “I feel like an incomplete puzzle, Kim..” He looks at him, eyes slightly misty “I just wanted to find the lost pieces, to understand all this.” He tries to gestures to himself, but his hand falls down weakly back in the sofa.” I had to know, even if some parts no longer fit…” despite the emotional weight of the topic Harry starts to drift away. Exhaustion taking over.

“Kim, can I ask you a favor?”

“What is it?”

“That silver flask, that I was drinking from. Take it. Sell it, throw it away, give it to someone I don’t know... I just don’t want to see it again.”

“Alright, Harry. If you're certain.”

In response to that, He just closes his eyes, and rest his head on the armrest. Kim stays there for a moment and when Harry’s breathing gets steady and even, he tries to stand up. Suddenly more words fall out from barely conscious man. “I’m sorry Kim. I’m sorry I drunk today.”

He sighs in response. He doesn't want to say it’s ‘fine’ or ‘ok’, because it it’s not, exactly. Although he believes it still can be.“Just sleep for now. You’re exhausted. Let’s just hope it was a simple slip up. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“It’s just… I hate seeing you disappointed.” His voice is getting more and more groggy. “But making you happy… seeing you smile. It means the world. If only I could, somehow, give that to you... I just wanted to get better. If I couldn’t... I didn’t want to drag you down with me.” Kim sits stunned in silence, while Harry slurs carelessly “juuuust forget I said anything...”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t do that.” He says quietly, in a tone as natural, as he can muster.

“Ok, goodnight Kim.” he mutters and like that, he dozes of.

That night it was Kim, who has trouble falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, again, I tried to end it in a bit more optimistic tone, but the bulk of the text it's still as sad as a wet kitten...  
> Still, hope you like it! 
> 
> I hope you don't think Kim is being too harsh. It's just his coping mechanism... There's one sentence in particular that I was writing and erasing all over again, but without it Kim's regret on how he acted rings... hollow. Idn. should I?
> 
> It's a bit unpopular, but since I started this I have a strong conviction not to leave a work unfinished, especially if there is at least a person or two, who read it.


	3. A Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have You ever had that very important talk, but it had to wait for a day, two, or a week and all you could do was to get on with your life, as if everything was normal? This feeling is most of this chapter for me.
> 
> Kim can't fall asleep, thoughts of Harry and of life spinning around in his head.  
> The boys have to go through the long day, before they can finally talk things through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i was suppose to be happier, but here: Have a bit of Kim angst at the beginning. My treat!

Kim is absentmindedly staring at the blurry mass of his ceiling, mulling over the words Harry muttered, probably unconsciously. It feels wrong, to even considering them in given circumstances. He would like to say it means nothing and go to sleep, but the truth is, that they didn’t even come as that much of a shock. He might not be a human can opener, but he’s still a detective, a damned good one. The way Harry would act sometimes didn’t escape his notice.

He would ask an odd occasional question. He would freeze at the accidental touch, look at him in a certain way, that Kim found worryingly enjoyable. Harry seemed uncharacteristically reserved in those expression. Kim didn’t realize, that he was just trying to get his bearings, postpone any possible action until he gets better. He just figured that Harry, while not as straight as he initially presumed, is just too deeply in denial, and they both have to get over that silly infatuation. _Wait, b_ _oth?_ _Yes._ _B_ _oth._ Kim wasn’t fully honest about it even to himself. Pushing the thought out with routine and work. There's no reason to deny himself any further. No... there are there are multiple good reasons to do so. He is going through them in his head, trying to dissuade himself from the idea. He combats an impulse, to grab a notebook.

Harry’s an addict, perhaps a recovering one, but that’s not an easy state to be in. Was today a one-time occurrence? That’s to be judged in the days to come. As distressing as this was for Kim, he decides, that wants to help, as long as Harry is willing to try.

He’s obsessive, amnesiac still trapped by his past, and his ex girlfriend. A man, who doesn't even remember all of his baggage.

Harry, likely, haven’t been with a man before, or at least probably doesn't remember if he was… That idea didn’t dissuade Kim, as he expected. To his own frustration, the longer he focused on it, the more thrilling it seemed, for some reason. This wasn’t where this train of thought where suppose to go, and it seem to go further off track. This is exactly the thing, he was trying not to think about, when he was returning home. With a groan he turned to his side. The sight of a wall doesn't register as much of a visual change without his glasses.

His partner is a brilliant eccentric and, after a period of adaptation, a skilled and passionate cop. It’s a bewildering pleasure to see him work, and he’s fun to be around. Cleans up good, too. The sight of him might even get distracting from time to time.

Sometimes he really liked the way Harry looked at him, sometimes he was afraid of the way he really saw him. There where men, in his life, that have known him for years and still considered him cold and uncaring. It never felt like it was his responsibility to prove them wrong, when they have already made their assumptions. This kind of talks where never his strong suit. He decided long ago he doesn't have to justify himself. The fact, that he knew who he was would have to be, and often was, enough. Being with others under those circumstances was easier, however, never felt truly fulfilling.

He didn’t have to explain much to highly perspective and sensitive Harry. His abilities where uncanny. Being priced by his keen eyes was an entirely new experience. It felt exposing, scary, exciting, liberating. No need to keep appearances if someone already sees through you, to your very core. and they accept it, like it, maybe even...

He turns again to his back, and runs both his hands through his face and hair.

For Kim it feels like a silly dream, a childish notion of love, that crashes against reality in your late teens, maybe early twenties. That’s especially true, it this rotten political climate, for a bespectacled, minority, homosexual man. His bleak outlook was further verified by the demanding job, one he was passionate about, that he refused to compromise for anyone.

And with someone like Harry, he wouldn’t have to. He understands how important that work is to him, they share that calling, with all of it’s problems and grueling hardships. No need to explain, but also no need to keep things to himself. Dammit. The longer he thought about it, the more sense it all made, in a bizarre way. It wasn’t suppose to, when he started to analyze that. Maybe that... thing with Harry, as difficult as it seems to be, might be worth a shot.

Finally he manged to clear his mind enough. He’s glad he can’t read the time on the clock on his bedside table. For now, he decides, Harry needs help. Whatever more they might feel they’ll have to address it... He finally drifts to sleep, thoughts about Harry follow him there.

Kim usually don’t remember his dreams but, as a sharp sound of the alarm pulls him back to reality, some pictures linger in his mind.… _Goddammit_ _Kitsurag_ _i!_

* * *

As Harry wakes, confusion overwhelms him for a few moments. It feels like something fried his neurons. In the hue of the returning memories opening his eyes feels like a one stimuli too much. He groans and massages his forehead. He has trouble remembering last evening. Not so much from the alcohol, as form the breakdown. He didn’t drink much, not in comparison to his past life. Yesterday’s damage is more mental, then physical.

The memories that resurfaced weight heavily in his mind, but the seem more in order now. As if someone repaired the old tangled magnetic tape. He didn't really dream last night, his brain was probably busy re-spooling the information the it into a playable cassette. The data is still the same, just as painful and tragic but easier to read, to make any sense of.

Having that more or less in order, he pats himself, realizing He slept in his clothes. Then he starts to feel his surroundings, realizing he must have fallen asleep on a couch. On… Kim’s couch. Yesterday comes back to him in a snap. He quickly opens his eyes, wide. Sits up and looks around frantically, just to find Kim, by the kitchen table, observing him and his waking ritual, carefully, probably for some time now, holding a notebook in one hand and a pen in other. If he’s been amused or worried it didn’t show. The shadows beneath his eyes a bit more defined then usual. With hard to read expression, he welcomes him.

“Good Morning.”

Harry swallows dryly “Kim… I’m so-”

Kim stops him with a gesture. “I’ll not have any more of your sorries. You apologized already.”

“I… then, um thank you, Kim.”

Kim nods and makes a little sound, apparently deeming that answer acceptable. He puts the notebook aside. He’s suddenly all business. “We shouldn’t be late, so we’ll eat, then we can drop by your house.” He checks his watch. “I can give you 15 minutes there. I have something I have to do in that area anyway. Sound acceptable? For a brief moment his professional manners drops a little and he shows concern “Are you good to work today, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m… I’ll be alright, Kim. That sound good.” Harry, with gets up from the couch, his joints screaming in protest, and he drags himself to to chair by the table opposite Kim. “Look, about yesterday… I...”

“It’s alright, detective.” Ah, so we’re back to ‘detective’. It’s a work day, near working hours, it’s only natural for Kim to slipping into the official role. Well, at least it’s not ‘officer’, that's a good sign. “We should really focus on work for, for now.” Harry know him well enough to see Kim is distancing himself for now and understand, that’s not the time push private matters. He just nods.

Kim, satisfied with the answer, gets up and heads to the fridge. “You’re good with scrambled eggs?” he asks as he opens it and grabs a couple from a carton.

At that Harry looks at him with eyes wide again, and he grabs his stomach “Kim… I think I might have forgotten to eat yesterday.”

At that Kim looks at him for a moment, face still unreadable, then dives back to the fridge and gets some more eggs. “I swear, you’re like a kid sometimes.” he says under his breath. It probably wasn't meant to be heard.

“I happen to be very responsible, for a half year old.” Harry argues weakly.

Kim answers in a deadly serious tone. “And quite immature for a man pushing fifty.”

“Hey!” Harry starts to protest but, bless his better than average perception, he notices a smirk on Kim’s face, before he quickly turns away to prepare breakfast. Seeing that smile… Harry’s thoughts stop suddenly an alarm starts within him. He thought something like yesterday. It’s nothing new, so why the warning? Might he have… said it? No way, Kim is to cool with it. Of course he is! He’s always cool, that means nothing!

He is pulled out of his thought by a big plate of scrambled eggs right in front of him and a big cup of coffee. He wolfs it down in silence trying not to obsess to much on his previous thought.

* * *

Harry managed to get ready in almost exactly 15 minutes. When he runs down and opens the door of the MC Kim gives him a weirdest look.

“What is is?”

“Nothing, your hair is still wet.”

“I know, I was kind of in a hurry. Don’t worry, I wont lean on the seat.” He lightly pats the headrest, before he enters.

Kim let’s his eyes drop down to Harry’s clothes. “It’s not often you wear a uniform.” when Harry shrugs at that “I hope you realize, that it will quickly get suspicious if you start overcompensating with your clothes for your actions.” Kim and starts the Kineema’s engine and focuses squarely on the road. “But, it looks good on you, detective.”

* * *

Through the day the unspoken talk hangs threateningly above Harry. Like a sack right above his head, that might be filled with knives as well as feathers. Is Kim angry? How angry is he? Why is he so nice? Did he said anything stupid, while drunk and broken? The uncertainty is killing him. He wants to clear the whole thing up right now or not at all!

The truth is that it would be hard to overstate Harry's shame and disappointment in himself for yesterday and part of him wants to run away, the only way his body knows how. The first opportunity to do so is the brief lunch brake, but Harry in hanging on, just sipping the foul coffee, when Kim enters the brake room, probably bit calmer now, that Harry didn't run towards the nearest liquor store, at the first chance. He sits next to him and hands him a sandwich.

“You’re to good for me, Kim.” He means it. He doesn't feel he deserve the trust, the care, the fucking sandwich. Kim's words back to him hit into the hart of the problem, before it can spiral out of control.

“Well, you’ve been bad enough to yourself, so I’m giving you a brake.”

They eat, drink the precinct’s middling coffee discussing whether Jean’s and Judith’s case ‘FINGERS IN THE CHILLI’ case might be possibly connected to their new case ‘A MAN WITH A GUN TAPED TO HIS HAND’. Harry has a hunch it might.

He gets lost in thought, chewing his sandwich, then smiles grimly to Kim “Nice topic to discuss over food, huh?”

“It’s work." Kim states dispassionately "We’re looking for clues. They are quite interesting cases.” He looks at his sandwich suspiciously for a second “We don’t he to get into into the details.” Then he shrugs nominally and take another bite. He’s the less sensitive one of the two.

“I know, it’s just.. not many people understand that.” Harry takes a sip of the coffee “It’s not as easy to talk to people outside of our line of work. You have to watch what you say. They ask you about your day. You tell them, and they get angry or disgusted. You don’t say anything and then you are too quiet and distant, but what can you do? It’s hard to focus on something else, when you have some horrific, fucked-up thing in your head, or this puzzle you are just on a verge of solving.”

The prolonged, thoughtful look, that Kim gives him at that tells him more then it probably was intended to. He understands. All to well. They both lived that scenario. This is more-or-less as he would put it if he was ever compelled to to talk about it. A little treacherous voice in Harry’s head whispers _It would makes sens_ _e_ _, to be with someone like him. It would make sense to by with Kim… He understands, look at him, he think_ _s_ _so too._

“So, that thing, you where trying to do? It worked? Got some memories back?”

“Yeah...” Harry doesn't elaborate and Kim doesn't push with further questions. This is as far as this talk goes, for now. The break is almost over. A bulk of the workday still in front of them. The dreaded talk still hangs above them like a promise and a threat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That whole first part with Kim wasn't in my original plans. But i had a few things from his perspective i wanted to communicate, and it run away from me.  
> So is it going in a happier direction? I know it's full of uncertainty, but I hope, that hopefulness shines through...


	4. Sunset Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a nice, long, a bit angsty and a tiny bit pining talk between the boys. Harry finally getting over some of the stuff from his past.
> 
> "In the hue of the orange light from the already lowering sun Jamrock still doesn't shine like a diamond. Yet it fractures the light in most curious ways. Rugged and uneven. An uncut Gem. There is a kind of wild beauty in it, despite all the rough edges. At that moment Harry feels the strong kinship with the city, that Kim loves, despite it’s many faults."

Kim is just finishing a report, but he could feel a persistent gaze on him for at least the last fifteen minutes. Harry’s eyes have been shifting to the clock and back to him with increasing frequency, then, EXACTLY, at five Harry grabs a wad of papers and slams them, loudly, against his desk, pretending to straightening them up. However Kim doesn't budge. He spares Harry only a glance, and take two long minutes to finish his work. And another to look through it and then two more, to gather his thoughts.

The brilliant bastard was right again. After the initial autopsy the cases appear to be very much connected. Removing the industrial tape, that from the man’s hand reviled the lack of the two fingers. They have been following that lead through the day, trowing themselves into work not to think about things. They still made a good team. Kim couldn’t decide if it was disconcerting or comforting to see Harry work as usual, as if he wasn’t a crying drunken mess not a whole day ago. He probably should be mad, but the anger from yesterday have burned down, replace by different kind of heat, when he looks his way. Feeling, that Harry is staring at him so hard, he may burn a hole through him any second, he finally addresses him.

“Shell we go, detective?” Even though he was surely looking Kim’s way, he flinches at being addressed. Then Harry stands up, in a hurry, almost knocking over his chair.

They leave the precinct and the scruffy detective quickly lights up a cigarette, to get as much of it as possible in their quick walk to the MC. Kim decides to keep his, for later, but he looks at Harry’s with a bit of longing.

“Good work today, detective.” He says, knowing full well, that Harry’s face will light up at the moment he ends the sentence. Kim knew that his partner likes these little signs of appreciation. He wouldn’t give him an unwarranted praise, but when there was occasion to do so, he found himself taking it, just to see that reaction. He continues, feeling a bit blinded by the warmth and honesty of the expression that falls upon him “I think It’s safe to assume we found Minot’s and Vicquemare’s victim.” It’s straining for him to get from gruesome, material, work-related topics into the weird, hazy subject of feelings. He chooses to ease the transition with a common human peace offering. One of the simple pleasures, that Harry can still enjoy.

“I was thinking we should get dinner, so you won’t forget to eat today too.” As the detective begins to check his pockets Kim stops him, gently touching his arm “Don’t worry about it. I got this.”

Harry looks at him sheepishly, “But… You’ve been feeding me the whole day. I think I should be treating you!”

“It’s alright. I sold that hip flask, you ask me to. It’s only fair.”

He stares at him in response, his expression indicates that he’s doing calculations in his head. “When did you manage to do that?”

“When I got you home, this morning. I told you I had something to do.” Harry furrow his brows and Kim adds, trying to mask the worry in his voice. “I hope you didn’t change your mind about it. I can still get it back.”

“What? No! I’m glad you did it, thank you. Good riddance. I was just thinking, that the closest place you could pawn that is, like, almost ten minute drive away from my house. I was wondering how anyone could drive like that through the morning traffic... you speedfreak.”

The genuine expression of admiration catches Kim off-guard. He suddenly realizes that while, he is not as starved for the affection as Harry, every time it happens it wakes his appetite.

“Right.” He says feigning indifference “Any ideas what to get?”

Harry goes back into to his thinking pose, stroking his mutton chops. “So, what you’re saying is, that my ex is buying us dinner?” It’s good to see him being able to joke about her now, even if it still feels a bit forced “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a kebab… or a burger.”

Kim chuckles. “I got quite more for it than that, Harry.”

“Well, I don’t feel like anything fancy.” He looks down at himself, as if judging himself unfit for anyplace classy. “She can buy me two burgers.” His eyes gleam suddenly. Something usually reserved for revelations in their investigations. “No, wait! A kebab AND a burger.” Satisfied he nods, then covers his mouth mid-yawn. “Oh, and a good coffee. If There’s anything left, you should keep it, I haven’t managed to pay you back for the rims in Martinaise.”

To think that, after all this time and everything they have been through together, Harry still thinks he owes him. The man, who saved his life and who’s life he was determined to saved too. Kim squeezes a lighter, that sits always in his pocket. Well, maybe they can save each other again.

“It’s fine, Harry, but we’re not waiting in two different lines for food. Let’s go get the burgers. I know of a place that makes decent ones, but they do have very good coffee.”

* * *

They order takeout and then Kim drives them somewhere. They seem to leave Jamrock or at least get into the part, that Harry doesn't recognize or remember. As they leave the Kineema Harry stands on his bit wobbly legs and shakes his head. “The way you drive sometimes, I’m surprised you don’t arrest yourself.”

Kim tries to hide a smile at that, treating it, as intended, as a weird complement. “You don’t want to eat your burgers cold, do you?” He takes two tightly wrapped bundles from the bag and hands them, keeping the third one for himself. “Besides, I know what I’m doing. You’re in good hands, Harry” The turn of phrase left him stunned for a second, before he replies.

“Yeah, I know.” He rasps barely above whisper. The two cups of coffee he was holding during the brief ride are still hot, as he passes one to Kim. Harry really trusts him, he didn’t even think to question where they where going. They just drove and he didn’t even bother to ask where.

He looks around, he doesn't recognize the place, but is not bothered. It’s some kind of old, neglected overlook. Not many people would consider this part of Revachol, a tourist attraction. Some remains, perhaps, from ancient times, when people had hope for these parts. Not much is really there. A decrepit old bench next to a small, dying tree. A tower viewer covered in graffiti catches Harry’s interest. A he approaches it with purpose Kim’s voice stops him.

“Don’t bother. It haven’t worked in years.”

So, it means he have been coming here for a long time. Harry happily adds that little fact to his thought cabinet where he keeps all those awesome, little tidbits he managed to learn about Kim. That one is always open, eager for more information. He starts unpack his food “You really love this city, don't you?” The way that Kim reacts betrays he is not sure, if that is a kind of question he should answer, so Harry continues. “I must admit even our shithole looks good from the certain vantage point.” In the hue of the orange light, from the already lowering sun, Jamrock still doesn't shine like a diamond. Yet it fractures the light in most curious ways. Rugged and uneven. An uncut Gem. There is a kind of wild beauty in it, despite all the rough edges. At that moment Harry feels the strong kinship with the city, that Kim loves, despite it’s many faults. Before he can say something sappy he asks “You think this bench is safe to sit? on” and sits almost immediately, leaving no real chance for an answer.

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” Kim admits and very slowly, cautiously joins him. They eat together looking at the vista of the broken city.

“I kind of feel like in Martinese, on the swings.” they shares the quiet moment, but there's more to that association. “I’m afraid this will end in some terrible realization...”

[Maybe yesterday you just drove something important to you into the cold ocean again. You just don’t know it yet. If you destroyed whatever you had with him, It’s your funeral next…]

The hum of worry wakes within him again but is weaken instantly by the gentle way Kim looks at him. “I hope not.” He exhales looking at his coffee cup. “I hoped talking would be a bit easier with something to do with my hands “

“It usually gets easier with a bottle of beer or two.”

The cold steely look Kim gives him in return makes his stomach turn, threatening to evacuate barely ingested food. He’s deadly serious, and there's a hint of yesterday’s anger in hie eyes. Harry feels it’s hard for him to swallow, as he weakly answers.

“I’m sorry, It was suppose to be a joke. I know, too soon.”

The gaze that lingers on him in return silently tells him, that it is way too soon. That it might be an easy and comfortable topic anytime in the near future, if ever. Kim sighs. And takes the burden of beginning on himself. “How clearly do you remember yesterday?”

“I think I remember most important bits.” Harry goes through yesterday’s events hurriedly until he gets to the moment of his realization. “You saw the newspaper right? Since I read it things get a bit blurry until the morning. I remember the snippets of things. I might have said something stupid. Hope I wasn’t too bad.“

“You didn't kill him, you know that, right? The kid, Léo? ”The statement visibly takes Harry aback and Kim tries, very hard, to stay confident, as he continues. “You blamed yourself for it yesterday. You must know, that it wasn't not your fault.”

“I know, I think I get it.” Harry takes deep, long, painful breath. “Thank you, for saying that. I needed to hear that, but it doesn't make me feel much better, for now.”

“I…think I understand. Do you feel It’s good, that you know now?” He’s not using his pedagogical tone. That’s a genuine question. “Did it help?”

"I don’t know. I think it will. I just need more time. I’ll be ok.” He carelessly runs a hand through his hair. “The poor kid, he doesn't deserve to be my realization, my problem, a bad memory. He should rest.”

“Do you think you might have become the RCM officer because of what happened?” It was unusual for Kim to be asking such question. It’s not like He doesn't care. He cares about a lot of things, deeply. he just doesn't like when people pry int his personal matters and, in return, is deathly afraid to disturb the boundaries of others, but he asked. Something has, changed lines have already been crossed. Harry doesn't fail to notice that, as he thinks how to answer.

“I feel like that might have been a part of this, yeah… to not wast the rest of my life, to help find guys like the asshole that would hit some kid and run away. To get away from the memories. Goddammit…” the sudden awareness makes the rest flow from him uncontrollably. “...that’s what I ever did, run away, form my problem, into a tougher job.. into alcohol…drugs” He stops suddenly, afraid to be judged, but he meets only Kim steady, encouraging gaze, he continues. “Something inside me made me act out in the most destructive ways, at the thing I couldn’t process… I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this. I’m sorry if all that's to much.” Kim puts his hand on harry back and pats encouragingly.

“It’s ok. That’s why we’re here.” Harry half-expected to be lectured or yelled at. This is a turn of events he wanted, but didn’t even dare to hope for. He calms himself

“It’s incredible, the perspective you gain when you loose your memory and it returns to you, after a while.”

“It’s not a very common occurrence. I’ll have to take your word for that, Harry.” He says that, as only he could, without a hint of sarcasm or mockery. “What is it?”

“Dora didn’t like me working for the RCM. Kim tries to hide his discomfort at the mention of that name. “I can, somewhat understand why now, but she went about it in most… hurtful ways. I was just a bother to her. We both done a lot of thing we shouldn’t.” Something it him argues, that she did more, that she was worse to him, but he can’t even remember if that is a fair assessment or just a bitter rumbling of an abandoned drunk. It doesn't even matter anymore. It’s time to truly leave it be.

“I think I liked my new job, you know? It was stressful, came with heaps of issues, but It was something I was actually good at. I wanted her to understand and support me. Well...She didn’t. I’m not sure it was fair for me to expect that from her. It was bad for the already strained, bullshit relationship.” Harry waves dismissively, trying to end the topic as soon as possible “We where just hurting each other in the loosing battle for something that was long dead.”

He can almost feel himself slowly getting over some parts of his past. Now, he has to remember, that Kim is absolutely not her. He won’t judge and belittle him, for his weakness. He won’t use his insecurities against him. He truly belies that.

Kim found Harry old and broken man and it didn’t scare him away yet. He is still there, slowly repairing him, every day, because he can somehow see all that is still worthwhile in him. And he start to feel, not like his old self, but someone new. Someone, who has the potential to be this worthwhile person. He has to start by making this right.

“I know, that you don’t like, when I’m sorry, but you have to let me apologize for this. I’m sorry I drunk yesterday.”

“Let’s just make sure it was a slip, not a full on relapse.” He knows about those things, the proper terminology. Harry wonders, if Kim maybe read up on it, because of him.

“Right. Believe me, I don’t wan to go back to that. I’m also sorry for going to you with this shit.” He mindlessly gestures towards himself. “For mixing you into all that.”

“Harry. I might have been angry. I didn’t want to see you like that, but I’m still glad you came to me.” He’s grateful for the honesty, for the trust. “I just wish you came earlier, before all of this happened. I could have helped.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” At that Kim looks ready to be angry again. “What if I need you to often. What if...”

“I prefer that to the alternative.” Kim is looking straight ahead as he says it “As long as you try, I’m here to help.” The voice is forcibly casual, controlled but the message is of utmost care. That doesn't escape Harry's attention. He understands how hard this is for his partner and he appreciates it. He takes in another big breath.

“Than you Kim. That means a lot, but you have to promise me something.”

Kim tears his eyes from the dimming light over his beloved city and it lays them on Harry. “I can’t promise you anything until I know what it is.”

“Right.” He steadies his breath. “Right. If I fail again and truly loose it, If I start drinking again...” naming it so directly makes him pause for a moment. “...please, then, just leave me be.”

“Harry… I-”

“No, Kim, you have to give me that. I wouldn’t forgive myself dragging you into that shit with me. So, if you find me drunk, fuck up on, who-knows-what, head-down in the gutter, just leave me there, preferably to drown, please. You said it yourself you can only help me as long as I try”

Kim sits there with an unsatisfied grimace on his face. Not being able to find logical fault with that last statement, but still finding the idea distasteful. He finally brakes the silence with a heavy sigh.

“Alright.” He smiles weakly but warmly, Harry “Alright, Harry. Then, you can’t give up. I just can’t let you.”

Extensive heat fills his chest. Emotion almost to much to contain. Groaning, he covers his face with his hands. “You are just too much. You are too good to me. I don’t deserve this.”

At that, Kim stand up and faces Harry decisively.

“This is not about who deserves what. The world doesn't work that way. I don’t believe live has been particularly fair to you or to me or most anybody.”

And there you have it. Kim’s reason to become an RCM officer, one of them at least. Harry can see it clear as a crisp spring morning. Kim is not naive and arrogant enough to think he can change the unfair world, but he wouldn't feel right if he didn’t try. Every time the right person gets jailed, someone is saved, family gets a bit of peace of mind, it makes a bit of difference to someone. Despite the protests he cares about what people deserve. For some reason, he looks at Harry as if he should get another chance, and so much more.

“You didn’t deserve to feel like the only way you can move on was to forget everything. You have been through enough, I believe.” Kim, subtle changes in his gestures suggest he’s feeling a bit self-conscious for like giving something that could be interpreted as a lecture. Also, the way Harry looks at him, he probably raised he have reviled more about himself, then he planned to. He clears his throat and keeping deliberately neutral expression he concludes: “Yes, as I said before; You are too harsh on yourself.”

O _h for fuck’s sake why is he so fucking wonderful._ “Kim, you are, still, absolutely to good to me. Thank you for the talk, for not giving up on me” Harry feels invigorated and comes to a decision. “Alright, I’m not giving up anytime soon either.” He looking into empty cup. “We should be getting back soon, It’s getting cold, don’t you think? You smoked today already?”

Kim in response takes out a cigarette, he have been waiting for this. Harry follows. As they take out their lighters Harry grins noticing that Kim is using one that he got him. They light up, Kim still standing, leaning a bit on a dead tree. Harry asks a bit coyly:

“Will you help me go through the rest of the things?”

“Of course.” Kim answers calmly, but without a moment’s hesitation. “What are your plans for them?”

“I’ll probably throw away most, but there might be something valuable there. Something that will get us more burgers and coffee, preferably.” He says with a goofy grin and Kim looks like he is suppressing an urge to roll his eyes. Harry presses the cigarette to his lips and takes a takes in a shallow puff, suddenly serious “The picture, the one from school, with Léo there, and other kids. That I’d like to keep.” Kim nods and shares a barely-there smile.

A brief, comfortable silence falls upon them. Not many people would notice a slight change in lieutenant’s demeanor, but Harry does. Kim is looking more like his usual self again, certain and determined. He’s calmer after the talk. At first Harry welcomes it, but then, the recently calmed, alarm in his head is suddenly on again. Kim is gathering himself to say something.

“There is one more thing I wanted to talk about with you. It’s about what you said to me, yesterday. You remember? Just before you fell asleep?

“Oh.” A cold current runs through Harry suddenly and He freezes with his eyes stuck to the ground.. “So I did that, huh? The cigarette hangs limply between his fingers, just idly producing smoke “Shit, I said it out loud...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it, kind of, grew again. I believe there will be one ore brief chapter, and that's it.  
> I know there is still angst and oof, but I think some things might be affecting me.  
> Anyway, after I finis this, preferably soon, as "I'm sorry" I think I'm gonna try to write some fluffy smut.  
> Wish me luck, and be gentle, because I have never done this before, but I'm going to really try to make it... something, I don't know.


	5. A Two-Way Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, That's it. A bit of the promised comfort, after all that angst. The guys are gonna be alright. 
> 
> "He wants to to say something, ask what happens now, but the worlds die before he can fully formulate them, so he just leans and hugs Kim. He grabs at his back, like a man drowning. Kim’s arms are circling his waist in return. Orange selves of his jacket, a life ring."

The cold seems to wrap around him and radiate from within at the same time. He sits, frozen on the decrepit bench, under Kim’s expecting gaze. His cigarette now, afterthought, is dying slowly at his feet. Harry’s trying to remember what exactly he have managed to stammer to Kim in his hazy state yesterday. Did he tell him, that he cherishes everyday near him? That Kim is the most wonderful human being he remembers meeting? That he would die for him? That he doesn't feel worthy and he probably never will?

[YOU DESTROYED IT. FINALLY DID IT! THE ONLY ONE THAT WAS GOOD TO YOU! THE ONE THAT WAS GOOD FOR YOU!].

After what feel like an hour of silence Kim asks again.

“So do you, Harry?“

Harry only glances at Kim in response and his eyes divert into the ground in a moment. A lack of visible expression on his face in half-dark throws Harry on a loop. A level of control Kim puts onto his voice renders him unreadable. The way he extinguishes the cigarette, slightly too forcefully, against his heel, is the only hint of emotion.

The smile. It was about his smile. The distinct lack of it now reminds Harry. The stupid little thing, but that was enough. Few little words, proposal of familiarity, a hint of affection, and he feels uncovered before him.

[YOU SAID YOU WANT TO MAKE HIM HAPPY. LOOK AT YOU, YOU MISERABLE CRAP. HOW COULD YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN MAKE ANYBODY HAPPY!?]

Kim lets out a sight he has been holding and turns his gaze to nothing in particular on his left. “If you don’t remember that’s fine.” He’s giving them both an out.

[LIE, HARRY, LIE TO HIS FACE! DENY EVERYTHING. HE’S MAKING IT EASY FOR YOU. WHAT IS ANOTHER FALSEHOOD ON THE PILE OF MISERABLE UNKNOWNS AND MYSTERIES, THAT IS YOUR LIFE.]

There is a chance, he can take it, forget the incident. Yet, he didn’t uncover his past traumas that where filling his unconscious, just to live with another uncertainty, another gnawing secret at the back of his mind. He can’t be that person, who run from it all, again. Harry finally looks up, really looks this time. A thought of lying to Kim ties an unpleasant knot in his stomach. He deserves the truth. They both do.

“No, I remember. I think I do. I said that I… It was about...” Harry’s voice is weak, pained, but he does his best to suppress the incoming bout of panic. “Look Kim I’m sorry I was tired and confused and drunk. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget it, ok?”

“You asked me to do that yesterday too, but I don’t think I can.”

[DO I HEAR A FUNERAL MARCH?! OH IT’S GETTING CLOSER]

Harry feels his heart dangerously close to breaking at the possibility of loosing Kim a friend and the only thing that made sense in the days past his apocalyptic bender. But he promised to try, He’s not breaking that promise. He’s not making Kim responsible for whatever happens to him.

“Kim. you don’t have to worry about me. Don’t let it bother you. We don’t have to talk about it. I’ll mange, so give it a rest.”

“Harry. I don’t want to do that. I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He exhales nervously, frustrated at his own loss for words. “Just tell me one thing. Did you mean it?”

The silence separates them, stretching into miles of cold, hard air. A quiet, soft, “Yes.” somehow cuts through it. Kim closes the distance between them. Harry is not sure what it means, so he tries to justify himself.

“Now you know, but It doesn't matter, I promise I’ll deal with it. I’m sorry... I-” Kim crouches down, to Harry's eye level and stops the incoming flood of passionate protesting and apologizing by briefly putting a gloved finger on Harry’s mouth.

“Don’t be sorry.” He closes his eyes and somehow looks pained and relived at the same time. “Not about this, please.” At that Harry is drifting toward and back from understanding, afraid to read too much into it. “I want to try, Harry.”

[What?!]

He stares unwittingly for a moment. “You don't mean... Try what?”

“This” He slowly, carefully takes off one of his gloves, revealing his slander, pale hand, in a gesture that feels unreasonably intimate. He sheds a layer that guards him from the harsh world, a show of vulnerability. He shrugs a bit defensively. “If you really meant it.” He reaches with his naked hand for Harry’s “If you want it too.” The moment his smaller, nimble fingers touch big rough ones, Harry looks down at it as if it was a rare and beautiful cryptid. For a moment the only thing that exists is the point where their bodies touch. Is this real? _For everything that is holy, If he starts to hunt my dreams now I’m not sure I can survive it_. He squeezes the palm, it feels real enough. He reaches with his free hand up to Kim's face, and when he slightly leans into the touch Harry’s head starts swimming.

“Are you serious?” Harry finally croaks, words barely getting out from his throat. “You can’t possibly…” He starts, but he already feels himself smiling a little bit. “Kim, look at me, this is crazy.”

Kim actually adjusts his glasses with the free hand and studies him in response. “Well, I happen to like what I see.”

“See! You are more crazy then me!” Harry stands up suddenly, takes his hand of Kim’s cheek to run it through his hair “It’s impossible. Dammit, Kim, I do want it. I want you, this...” He frantically gestures at the space between them, “But you can’t possibly…”

“Harry, It’s hard for me to believe you are so surprised about this.” A hint of a cocky smile dances on his lips, because he have, somehow, bested the infamous detective at his own game. “You are a human can opener. I have seen you get testimonies from hardened criminals and most stubborn witnesses. You get real, accurate clues from inconsequential gestures, that most people have no hope to notice, not to mention, interpret accurately. We’ve been working together for, how long? Half a year? You really can’t see that I care? That I’m attracted to you?”

Harry just stand there, dumbfounded, mindlessly squeezing Kim's hand, barely even realizing he is still holding it. “Well I knew that you care… I mean I wanted you to care. I thought... I hoped you did… but, beyond that…” A myriad of situations go through his head, that should be obvious to him, if not to anybody else. Nothing to overt, hidden by Kim’s godly composure. It was all further obscured by a sturdy wall of Harry's self-doubt.

“Even you have your blind spots, I see.” Kim smiles, a bit triumphantly, at this observation.

Harry exhales, what feels like, months’ worth of pressure out of his lungs. “Well, shit...“Kim raises an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t like me for my eloquence, because if you did, it all just went out the window…” Kim snickers lightly at that, the rest of the tension melt away.

Harry hesitantly shifts a bit closer. He wants to to say something, ask what happens now, but the worlds die before he can fully formulate them, so he just leans and hugs Kim. He grabs at his back, like a man drowning. Kim’s arms are circling his waist in return. Orange selves of his jacket, a life ring. He looks tired with this whole day, as he rest his forehead of Harry’s chest close enough to his heart to hear it’s swift beat. Harry takes in the moment. “Is this happening?”

Kim takes a step back, loosening a hug and looks up at Harry. “Yes, I believe it is.” He similes guardedly. “Is everything alright?”

“It just feels like a dream.” Kim chuckles warmly and Harry continues “A good kind, and that doesn't happen often.” Not to Harry, anyway. “I think I had that one.”

“You did?” Kim asks narrowing his eyes slightly. “What happened next?” Harry have never seen Kim lowering his guard, quite like this. It’s deliberate. It’s rare. It’s intoxicating. It feels like it’s all happening to fast, despite the months of, apparent, anticipation from both of them.

Harry raises his hand ho Kim’s cheek and traces his lower lip with his thumb his eyes focused squarely on his mouth. He starts to lean unconsciously then hesitantly stops halfway and withdraws his hand.

“Kim Is it really a good idea? Considering, our work and well... me? It might not be easy.”

“You’re doing fine, better that most people anticipated. You slipped, it can happen again. I know that and I will be there for you, regardless.” He sound just a tiniest bit impatient as he adds; “Besides, would I have chosen this job if I didn’t like a challenge? Do you think I would, at my age, move to Jamrock, to work at the famous precinct 41.” A faint mischief gleams in his eyes” As your partner, nonetheless?

Harry smiles widely. A thought hits him. Kim believes that this might work, that Harry might be worth something. It seems unthinkable, but Harry really trust him. “Okay.” is all he says as he pulls him close and he can feel the ungloved hand travel up his neck and sneak into his hair and beckon him closer. At their lips touch the cool air around them seemed to stand still, before abruptly growing warm. Kim tastes like a smoke and the softens of his mouth contrasts finely with the rigid lines of his body as they press into each other. The fingers in Harry’s hair tightening their grip send shiver down his spine and it takes some willpower to brake the kiss, but he wants to look at Kim, to make sure everything is fine, everything is still real.

Shallow breaths escaping him in irregular intervals, Harry looks at Kim. He’s pleased to see him still very present, still himself, but his lips parted and his eyes a little glazed. A sight to behold, something worth remembering. “Harry...” He says softly and he has no possible response to that He just hugs him a little to tightly, but Kim doesn't complain. They stay like that for a long time, warming the air around them with their bodies.

Harry thinks how he got here, some abandoned landmark above the decaying town in the arms of his partner. It might not have been the right instinct to always run, but despite all the shit he has been through, at that moment, he can’t help but be glad for where the road has taken him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that is it. I hope you enjoyed that ride. Thank you to anyone who gave kudos, commented and encouraged me.
> 
> Now I have just one more short thing in, more or less, immediate plans for Disco Elysium and the "Parts of the Jamrock Shuffle." Another new thing one for me, unless I'll admit I can't do it and give up in shame. That is always an option, but I'll try. 
> 
> I just want to add, that I love Disco Elysium and can't thank it enough, for helping me rediscover the joy (and pain) of writing. I still can't believe that I shared something with people instead of letting it bubble, forever shapeless, in my head.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually almost forgot I edited the summary.  
> So nice you can do that here.  
> so something something, water motif.
> 
> Sorry, in a mood, that I can't take anything seriously.


End file.
